


all that was left (in pandora's box)

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [122]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Hopeful Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, allusions to self-harm, regaining hope, the precursors are...not great to say the least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21726598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Post-Uprising, the precursors only leave Newt in control when he’s alone. Or when what must be a hallucination of Hermann appears, because they know they killed him.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler & Hermann Gottlieb, Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [122]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 2
Kudos: 41





	all that was left (in pandora's box)

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Your post-Uprising stuff, like, guts me. It's so good and so painful but never quite hopeless. Even in the don't be haunted by my ghosts one you can't convince me it's ABSOLUTELY going all to hell lol I have a prompt if you're interested: Post-Uprising, the precursors only leave Newt in control when he’s alone. Or when what must be a hallucination of Hermann appears because they know they killed him."

“Food,“ the guard says, shortly; the tray clattering onto the table harshly, its contents sloshing and barely stay below the room.

Newt closes his eyes.

They stare at the tray on the table, his eyes narrowing; bare his teeth in a snarl and direct a glare at the guard. “Human _filth._ ”

The guard doesn’t reply; Newt honestly doesn’t blame him.

The food—tomato soup, two slices of bread, and one small bowl of rice, with a complementary plastic spoon—looks so fucking _good,_ honestly; and that could just be the hunger talking, not—well, they’ve had him on a three-day hunger strike; at this point Newt could eat a hippo.

Still; they pull his lips back in disgust; growl again: “ _Filth._ ”

 _God,_ Newt thinks; resignation, mostly; watches them poke at the rice. _What I wouldn’t give for a moment of_ peace.

Well; here’s to that. At least they’re keeping him fed now, which is more than can be said for when they _first_ brought him in. Also see: less shouting, which is also very nice since that shit _really_ tears his throat up.

“We’re not doing this for you,” they remind him, “we’re going to escape, Geiszler, and then you will all _pay._ At best, you have temporarily halted our progress.”

 _Sure,_ Newt thinks, and rolls his eyes.

Really, once you get over the whole “possessed by genocidal aliens” part of it, it’s pretty mundane. The Precursors are huge pissbabies, but like, honestly? It’s pretty boring. Though it _would_ be nice if they’d give him the reigns a bit more.

They give a soft huff. “In your dreams, Geiszler.”

They eat the rest of the food and stare at a spot on the ceiling; quietly concoct plans of—

 _Let’s not,_ Newt says, _fantasise about breaking Hermann’s neck, okay? Please?_

“Oh don’t be _sad,_ ” the Precursors sneer, “it’s not like he’s _alive._ We’ve killed him already—surely you cannot be _that_ upset about it.”

Fuck _you bastards,_ Newt snarls, _I swear to god I will_ kill you—

They laugh; short and sharp. “Good luck with that.”

Still, though, they let go; leave him blinking for a moment in the bright LED-strip lighting; the fabric of his clothing uncomfortable against his skin and a plastic spoon bent nearly in half in his hand. He takes a breath; drops it and winces as it clatters on the ground.

“It’s okay,” he says; quietly, though he’s not even sure who he’s trying to convince at this point because it really, _really_ isn’t okay even in the _slightest._

The door clicks; suddenly, and Newt’s head snaps at the sound; stiffening as they dig their claws back in; wrench control from him—

And let go.

The room fades back into view; Hermann.

He smiles crookedly. Good to know his imagination is still working, at least; though this is kind of new.

The other mirrors it; though more hesitantly; realistic, really, which is unexpected. “Newton,” he says.

The Precursors, for once, are silent. Maybe they’ve realised the best way to hurt Newt is to let him torture himself with thoughts of how it could have been. He lets his smile drop. “Nice to see you,” he says, because if he can’t stop this, he might as well try and live it to its fullest.

“Yes, well,” Hermann pauses; thumb rubbing the head of his cane, and Newt thinks, _Oh, I’d forgotten about that._ “I’d have been by sooner, but…” he trails off; licks his lips.

Newt nods; plays along. “Nah, man, I get it,” he says. “You needed your time.”

 _Don’t we all,_ he adds, internally. It’s kind of nice, though, to—well, not _see_ Hermann again, because that’s never going to happen, but…to imagine him so fully.

“It’s…good to see you,” Hermann says; after a moment’s silence. “Well—assuming it _is_ you.”

Newt smiles; a bit too wide. “Genuine Newton Geiszler, baby,” he says, “I’m _allll_ alone—it’s not like they have any _reason_ to be in control right now.”

Hermann’s expression flickers. “Pardon?” he says, “I have—sorry, _what?_ ”

“It’s not great,” Newt says, with a shrug, “but they let me have control if I’m alone.”

“Alone,” Hermann repeats. “ _Alone?_ ”

“Just me, myself, and I,” Newt says, and gives a short laugh. “Trust me, dude, we all know you’re not here. Just,” he taps the side of his head, “a very accurate imaginary construct.”

Hermann sputters. “That’s— _ridiculous!_ ” he says, “Newton—”

“H— _hah,_ ” Newt chokes, “dude—”

Hermann crosses the room; cane tapping, rhythmic, across the ground, and Newt tenses. Then, a moment later; warmth. Hermann’s hand on his arm, the warmth piercing through the thick fabric; and Newt’s fingers tighten.

“… _shit,_ ” he hisses.

Hermann pulls back. “Are you quite alright—?”

“ _We killed you,_ ” they roar; and Newt strains, grateful, so grateful for the restraints that snap tight and dig into his skin, stopping him from reaching Hermann as he scrambles away. “You are _dead_ —you were _dead!_ We _saw_ it!”

Hermann draws his shoulders back; lips pursed thin. “No,” he says, “no, you didn’t. Oh, you tried—but you didn’t succeed. You didn’t succeed—”

“We _will_ —”

“You will _not,_ ” Hermann says; voice raising, for the first time, “you _will not_ succeed. Do you know why? You will not succeed because Newton is a good man, and you will _never_ win against him. He is _far_ stronger than you can imagine—”

“ _Shut up!_ ” they roar, “shut _up_ —”

“Newton,” Hermann says; loud enough that Newt can hear; ignores the Precursors’ incensed shouting, “Newton, I know you’re in there. Stay strong, and—” he stops; closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ll be back.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up!”

The door closes behind Hermann, and they continue to scream; voice cracking and breaking but full of fury and _hate,_ and yet—

And yet, still, Newt feels… _peace,_ almost. Hermann isn’t dead; and Hermann…Hermann thinks Newt is a good man; thinks Newt is _strong._

Maybe…maybe he’s right.

 _Of course I am,_ a little voice that sounds suspiciously like Hermann’s snaps; the thought makes Newt smile a little

_Hope._

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


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